Work Now, Sleep Later

I dunno if you
missed it or not…..

I guess it depends on
whether you’re one of
us poor-slobs who have
to drag your ass outta bed
every day to go to work
or whether you’re living
the high-life on some
fancy ass yacht somewhere
and couldn’t be bothered
to worry about stupid shitz1
like this, but…..

Last Sunday was

Otherwise known as
Work Now, Sleep Later.

Now, for those of you
in the aforementioned
poncey-rich group as well
as those lucky enough to
live in a place that doesn’t
make it’s citizens jump
through such stupid hoops
like this anymore,
you may not know exactly
what this day entails,
but basically,
it’s me waking up
in a semi
panic attack
because my Big Ben
manual wind up
alarm clock (‘Ole Reliable’)
and my stupid cable box’s
digital clock’s showing
different times.

I gotta go to work —
what the hell time IS it,

Ok– so, maybe I figured
it out pretty quickly –

( my mind ain’t exactly
a steel trap anymore,
but it still works after
several very hazy moments )

— but the real bottom line
is I lost an hour of sleep,
and oh, boy
am I pissed about it.

Now, I don’t give one
flying damn whether
I’ll theoetically get that
fucking hour back
again in the fall —

Hell, that slow train comin’
mighta have ran over my
ugly carcass way before
that day ever comes —

and besides —
I need that hour
of sleep NOW —
— not next autumn.

Telling me they’ll mail me
a check for it just don’t cut it.

It really doesn’t serve much
of a purpose these days,
I’m told —
(by several people who probably
don’t know anything more about
it than I do, which ain’t much –
but they agree with me )
and it screws my circadian
rhythm up for a couple of
weeks every damn time.

Plus, I don’t know
how much
more “Ole Reliable”
can take —

And they just don’t
make alarm clocks
that can take a punch

!!!!! HOY !!!!!!


Bob’s Yer Uncle

Heard in the gym at the end
of a long, long boring story
about buying a truck —

“And Voila-
Bob’s Your Uncle !” 


Ok, so I guess it goes
without saying,
but I don’t quite
understand expressions
like that one.

We’ll skip the part
about mixed metaphors
and go straight
to the heart
of the matter —

I mean, what would make
anyone think I even had
an uncle named Bob,
( I don’t)
— never mind mention
him in some kinda
self-congratulating way.

” I’ll Be A Monkey’s Uncle “

Fighting words —
— right?

Especially for all my nephews.

” Say Uncle ? “

are we talking about
my non-existent Uncle Bob?

It makes me almost wish
I did have an Uncle Bob–
so I could defend his honor.

For some reason,
there’s been a lot of
old expressions revolving
around relatives in a
sorta non relative way…..

“… and then I gave him a
“How’s Your Father” right
in the kisser, man.”

Ok– now,
explain to me very slowly
how asking about a guy’s
Dad gives you an excuse
to punch him in the face.

it’s also a weird
1920’s reference
to having sex,
although I don’t know
if an incestuous
connection is necessarily
a requirement.

“So’s Your Old Man!”

Oh jeez, man —
— are you another
one of his old drinking
buddies, or what?

No, I cannot loan you five bucks.

Who’s Your Daddy ? ”

— Albeit not a vintage expression,
it’s still just as stupid as the others.

I refuse to discuss my parents
with any knucklehead who uses
an expression like that.

And you’d think if you were trying
to borrow money from his son
you’d know his damned name,
wouldn’t ya ?

Well, I’ll toast to that.



Mail Bag Mania


Dia dhuit !

You just never
know what’s going
to show up in the Ole
Muscleheaded Mailbag,
and I’ve gotta say–

–today’s seee-lection
is a cross-section of
just about everything
and anything.

If indeed
variety is the spice
of life,

— well,a1
this is one

now that I think of it,
I’m pretty sure that
means a different
kinda hot

which of course,
I would admit readily,holymilkmen
but I probably meant
to say ‘MOY PICANTE’ !

— meh.

Damn that leanin’
Tower of Babel, anyway.

All I can say is never
offer to pet a big
drag queen’s cat (chatte)z3
in Paris unless you’re very,
very fluent in the language,

— those cobblestones in
Montmartre can be real
hard on the head !

Oh well, it was only a
French Mistake‘ in a
manner of speaking.


I sure am lucky that
nobody ever reads
these things, right?


as I was saying
before I went
and did some
deep sea diving
in the bottomless pit
of offbeat, obscure

It’s time for our verytj
popular feature
the Muscleheaded Mailbag
in which we reveal the
innermost contents of the
secret hard-drive ZX-01A

– used to store only the most
neat-o of submissions sent
to us by our lovely readers.1938

We used to have
a floppy disk,
but people kept sending
us dirty stuff,
so now it’s a
hard drive all the way,
… N-How.

Flash drive?zhere


I don’t even like the
sound of that, man.

Just one wrong move
and you’re back
to floppy.

Double entendre?

Yes, please —

make it a triple.

!!!!! HOY !!!!!!



Thanks for the submissions to :
and Karen !